


Welcome Home

by IMAgentMI, PFLAgentYork (Legendaerie)



Series: RP-verse [5]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clothed Sex, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-04 21:34:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11563779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMAgentMI/pseuds/IMAgentMI, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendaerie/pseuds/PFLAgentYork
Summary: Following York's week-long intel mission on a frigid planet, Carolina has a plan to warm him up again. And again. And again.





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> Immediate follow-up to Last Night, Good Night!

York is already unzipping his suit by the time he closes the door to his room, having dumped his armor in the lockers immediately after his debriefing. He is desperate for a shower, Delta is even more tired than he is, and all he can think about is sharing a bed with Carolina once he's clean.

He pulls Delta, leaves his clothes in a pile on the bathroom floor and can hardly wait for the water to heat up. Sure, the suit has an antibacterial layer to it but he’s still been sweating, even in the cold, and his hair is oily. Stepping into the lukewarm stream feels good enough for him to start humming, carefully raising his arms to start scrubbing shampoo into his hair.

Carolina doesn't bother to knock at the door, but opens it a crack to check that the shower is running before stepping inside.  She carries a small bundle in her arms and as soon as the door is shut behind her, she pulls off her shoes, her sweats and panties, and puts on the short skirt she wears as part of her formals.  Carolina strips off her tank top and drops it on the floor, kicking the entire pile of discarded garments under York's bed.  She unwraps a white top from around a pair of high heels, and sits down to put them on, shrugging on the shirt and rushing to do up the buttons before the water turns off.  

She makes it with plenty of time to spare, and takes a minute to arrange herself at the foot of his bed, fidgeting through several positions before settling on simply sitting up, legs crossed, hands folded over her knee.  She waits there as patiently as possible, listening to the sound of the spray, and the faint sound of his humming echoing out of the bathroom.

The second loop of the song, York lets himself sing; the first few notes peak out clear and strong in the shower, and he grabs the coarse brush to scrub his underarms.

_“Skylark, have you anything to say to me? Won't you tell me where my love can be?”_

The slow, jazzy tune fits his vocal style well, just fast enough to not drag out his vowels but slow enough he can savor the longer notes. He rinses the conditioner out of his hair and turns the water off, grabbing one towel to tie around his waist and another to wipe the fog off the mirror.

_“But my heart is riding on your wings, so if you see them anywhere, will you lead me there?”_

York examines his stubble in the mirror, and after a moment of debate grabs his razor and cream and prepares to shave.

Carolina closes her eyes and stifles a sigh.  She refuses to feel impatient, refuses to feel anything that will tarnish this moment.  He’ll be out soon enough.  Let him take his time, get clean, get comfortable…

Still, that’s not easy to do when she’s been planning for this moment for nearly a week, waiting just to see him, to touch him, to surprise him.  She is _not_ going to walk in and haul him out by the scruff of his neck, no matter how tempting it sounds.  She’ll be patient just a little while longer.

But if he starts trimming his nails in there, all bets are off.

Satisfied at last, towel sliding off and relying on one half-hearted hand to hold it up, York rounds the corner with the intent of messaging Carolina and stops dead.

Carolina’s stomach flips to see him there, _finally_ , and it takes every bit of self control she has to stay cool.  She uncrosses her legs, only to cross them again the opposite way.  “Did you miss me?”  She wonders if he’s aware just how much she can see even with the towel, and doesn’t try to bite back the smile.  “On your knees, York.”

Miles away, some part of him registers the sting as he drops to both knees where he stands, a pace away from her, towel a useless puddle in front of his thighs. He's so hard, so fast his head is spinning but he can't take his eyes of Carolina, her legs, the sensual curve of her heels, her legs, the skirt that barely hitting her mid thigh, her legs her legs _her legs._ God help him, he might be drooling - from more than one area.

She takes a moment to savor the sight of him, naked and adoring on his knees in front of her.  Finally she stands, takes a step forward, reaches out and brushes her fingers under his chin, tilting his face up towards hers.  “Well?  Did you miss me, York?”

He nods, entire body shuddering under just that touch, eyes locked on her face. “Every minute,” he whispers, trusting her to hear him. “Every second I was awake, and even more when I was asleep.” York nuzzles the inside of her wrist, hesitant of breaking the spell of her being confident and dominant, and yet desperate to assure her he had behaved.

Carolina cups his face in her hand, brushing her thumb over his lips.  “Did you touch yourself while you were gone?  Were you able to hold out for me?”  She had made no such promise to him, and could have taken care of her own needs, had she wished, but she refrained, and god was it a strain now to have him so close and still try not to let on how she is burning with need.

“I waited,” and even now he forces his hands into fists on top of his thighs, willpower winning over arousal. “I wanted you. All of you. Not just dreams or memories but-- those made it hard.” York tries to get her to run her fingers through his half-dry hair, tilting his head under her touch. “Thought about you so much at the end. You saw, right? My heart, beating for you?”

“Your heart always beats for me.”  And hers for him, but she can't say that right now, no matter how she wants to.  “You are mine.”  As his head follows her hand, she runs her nails through his hair, then grips a handful, just firmly enough to tilt him back a little more.  She steps forward, just enough for her thigh to touch his shoulder, her hand holding his face up and away from her body.  She leans down to kiss him, her lips barely brushing his.  “Would you like to touch me now?”

Her grip is firm enough he doesn't try to nod again, but it takes effort to swallow and form the words. “Yes. Please.”

She doesn’t loosen her grip, but swings one leg over his shoulder, dragging her ankle up his back, drawing his body to her while still holding him away.  “What would you like to touch first?”

The heel of her shoe drags against his skin, smooth and cool at first and then catching to scrape against his skin, and York makes a broken, desperate noise as his eyes threaten to close. “Want-- oh, god,” and he breathes against the skirt that’s just loose enough to drape between her legs and hide her most intimate parts from his sight. “Wanna work my way up those legs, your legs-- please, please let me,” and he locks eyes with her, pupils blown from nearly a full week of denial.

She releases her grip, both hands combing through his hair, letting her fingernails drag just to feel the way he bucks under her.  “You’ve been so good, York.  So good.  All this time.” She swings her leg back off him, leans down to take both his hands  and place them on her hips.  “You don’t have to wait any longer, York.  You can touch me now.”

“Yes, ma’am,” York manages, ducking down to press a sensual kiss to the side of her knee as he traces his fingers down the back of her calf, along the tendon at the heel and the sharp bones. He kisses his way up the inside of her thigh, occasionally rolling his eyes up to see her face as he strokes her leg with his hands, featherlight and tender. It's when he noses up the hem of her skirt enough to see what she _isn't_ wearing that something in him abruptly snaps.

“You-- you're not--” his breath catches in his throat, stutters against her already humid skin. “You did this for me,” and it finally seems to settle in that she put on a show, all of these clothes, just for him and only for him, and he shoves her backwards when he grabs her hips under the skirt with both hands and starts to devour her.

She is pushed a step backward, and she feels the bed against her leg before he forces her back again, until she loses her balance and hits the mattress.  He has her legs spread and over his shoulders before her weight has even settled, and she gasps as she wraps her legs around him, unable to keep still, moving and bucking to try and crush him into her, the heels of her shoes leaving scratches along the sides of his spine.  She grips the blankets, holding herself up to try and watch him, but her skirt is bunched up over his face, and when he moans into her, she nearly collapses completely.

York would be sure his brain had turned off if he was able to register anything beyond Carolina scratching his back, pressed against his shoulders, under his tongue. Every centimeter of his hard-to-focus concentration is on unraveling her under him, making up a week of absence in the space of five minutes. He licks up her labia, spreads her with one hand and sucks directly on her clit, hand slipping down to thrust two fingers in and out of her. They slide in so easily it's like they melt into her with no resistance, and he curls them to rub against her with each hard, fast movement.

Carolina moans, arching her back.  She blindly catches a handful of his hair again but barely has the strength to pull or do any more than merely guide.  She must be cutting him with her shoes by now, the way her legs rise and fall over his back, but if any of the sounds he is making are pained, York doesn’t stop or even hesitate. So she tries to hold on and not lose her mind under his fingers and tongue, while the whole time she keeps straining for more.

York finds himself reaching for his cock more than once, six days worth of build up making his arousal agony, but each time he stops and reaches for Carolina instead - thumbing the spots that must have faded on her hipbones, the swell and curve of her ass where it meets her thighs, everything he can reach under the soft, silly fabric of the skirt. It's so much, with the fabric against his arms and her hand in his hair and the ever-shifting contrast of the chill patent leather slide and the coarse dig of the pointed ends; so much he feels like he could come untouched.

“Come for me,” he begs when he's forced to gasp for breath, slipping in a third finger and thumbing her clit. “Let me taste it.”

She didn't know if it was the invitation, or his voice all desperate wild and begging, the need in his eyes, or simply his touch, his fingers and mouth pushing her over the edge.  Whatever it was, the words were barely out of his lips when she gasped, grasping at him, tightening around him as every muscle in her body seized.  She could hear him groan somewhere beyond her, light years away, but she couldn't focus enough to tell if it was because of his own arousal, or if she had unwittingly hurt him.  He didn't pull away, though, so she selfishly rode out the rest of  her orgasm without another thought, blissfully blank.

Her lazy moment of peace was short lived.  York slows, but doesn't stop, and as the haze of her orgasm dissipates, he presses his mouth to the inside of her thigh and begins to suck.

The jolt through her body rips the breath out of her, and the mewling noise she is making is nothing short of pathetic.  Encouraged, he sucks harder, then a nip, a lick, and back to sucking.  She is shaking against him now, and it's too much, far too much, but she simply twists her head away, eyes closed and panting into her clenched fist.

He switches to two fingers now, movements slow and gentle by trembling hands, and he half-crawls up her body to kiss her. The hand between her legs is little more than a suggestion, a memory of how it feels to be inside of her, cupping her public bone with the heel of his hand. York’s knees slips beside her and he almost loses his balance entirely, teeth clicking together nonetheless.

“Sorry,” he says, pulling away to slip an arm under the back of her neck and under her knees, rotating her on his bed so that there's room for them both. He kisses her nose as an apology, then waits to have her eyes on him before he starts to unbutton her shirt with his teeth.

Carolina runs her hands through his hair, over his shoulders, around his neck, unable to keep from touching him, holding him.  Her eyes flutter from the heat of his breath on her chest, and it is all she can do to not clutch him to her, to allow him to keep undressing her.  But it has been so long and one orgasm hasn't taken her edge off, not at all.

He almost bites off and swallows one of the buttons when Carolina touches him in a particularly sensitive spot, but York endures and undoes the last with his teeth. He nuzzles her bare skin, fanning the fabric out to reveal more of her body, and the graceful shape of her underwire bra.

“This expensive?” he asks, voice low and rough as he kisses between her breasts.

“Don't worry about the goddamn bra, York.  Do whatever you need, whatever you want.”  She threads her fingers through his hair again, tenderly this time.  “I missed you so much.  I want to give you everything, anything you want.  I'll give you anything you ask.  You're mine, York,” she brushes her thumb across his forehead, gentle as a kiss, “and I'm yours.”

“Anything? I want you,” he says, ducking down to try to bite her nipple through the bra, leaving a dark wet stain on the fabric, “to want this. To enjoy this. I want you to come as many times as you can on me,” and he slips his fingers deeper into her, “around me,” sliding the bra straps down her shoulders with his teeth, “because of me.”

He tugs her bra down, exposing her breasts to the chill of his room, and immediately closes his mouth again over the nearest one.

She has no self control left, nothing to keep herself from crushing him to her breast, thrusting against his fingers. She has no volume control, no sense of self preservation, and the way she gasps his name louder and louder will be heard down the hall soon, and she doesn't care.  She wants this, she wants him, and that want can't fit into just this moment, but stretches into her future, until a life without him is unthinkable.  

It pains him to leave off sucking a hickey onto the curve of her breast, but Carolina is getting loud. York leans up to kiss her, to capture the sounds she makes with his mouth and try to swallow them, only to choke on the affection in them. His hands shake as he pushes her legs open, slipping between them just to hike her knee against his ribs and slip his fingers deeper. He knows, as soon as he eases his cock inside of her, he’ll be done so as much as it aches like famine to wait he licks inside her mouth and curls three fingers inside her.

It's so much, so goddamn much and even though she's already come once, even though every nerve is overwhelmed, even though the fatigue of a week’s load of anxiety is starting to drag her down, nothing can stop her orgasm.  His fingers shaking even inside her, his mouth on hers, his naked body tense against hers, just…. _him_.  York is enough to overpower everything, and if his mouth wasn't already covering hers, the entire floor would have heard her scream his name.  She wraps her arms around him, tight as she can, so he shares every tremor, every twitch of her body until her arms give out and fall away.  She tries to catch her breath, staring up at him, drunk with love.

York finally pulls his hand back, wiping it blindly on the corner of the sheets as he rubs their noses together. “You okay?” he asks, sweet and gentle. “Need a break?”

“No.”  She can barely even focus on his face, every limb feels held down by lead weights. “No rest.  You've waited so long.  I don't rest until you do.  I want you to come, York.  I want you in me.  Come home York   I missed you so much--”

Kissing her is instinct, pure drive and desire; slipping a hand under her back to bring her closer to him and to fumble at her bra, rubbing the head of his cock between her slick folds without breaching her, moaning into her mouth, all of these are unconscious thought. Even as he kisses down her neck, nibbling lightly at her ear and feels the soft crush of her chest against his, all he cares about is her pleasure.

It seems he’s too out of practice to unclip her bra blind and one-handed, however, so he gives up in favor of laying her back down, holding her gaze as he finally, finally pushes inside of her.

Her body has already been well used tonight, so she is more swollen than her normal arousal would account for and they both gasp as he enters her. If he shudders at how tight she is, she trembles at how much he fills her.  She tries to relax, to accept every inch of him, but it's hard when her every instinct is to bear down on him, tighter, to wring him out.

York swallows hard around a groan that closes his eyes tight and tilts his head back. Carolina’s so hot and tight around him it feels as though she could scald him, and he drops his forehead against her collarbone and gasps for breath. His entire body shakes with each inhale and he sinks his fingernails into the sheets.

“You-- you okay? You’re-- you’re so tight--” The look he gives her is glassy, tears starting to bead in his eyes from the effort it’s taken to hold himself together for so long. “Don’t wanna hurt you-- don’t let me hurt you, darling, my heart’s desire, don’t--” he closes his eyes and shudders, hips fighting to push deeper anyway, fully sheathe himself inside her.

“You're good, it's okay -- all the way in, York.”  Carolina puts her hands on his hips.  She barely has the energy to move, but still pulls him to her anyway, as much as she can, encouraging him with her hands and mouth. “Deeper, York...god that's good…”

He bucks into her, hard, almost against his will, but the way she moans and remains pliant beneath him coaxes him on. York wraps his arms around her and moves in slow, easy rolls, mind filled with images of the pull of the tide and her sea-green eyes, half-formed poetic comparisons dissolving in the heat of her skin. He kisses her between breaths, in place of breaths, as though the air in her mouth was sweeter than the rest despite it all being stale and recycled. They’ve long since left any reservations about their feelings at the door, save for one, and York sinks his teeth into his tongue to keep it in. Instead he ducks his head down to the side of her neck and blocks out images of another skirt he’d make love to her in, of billowing white satin at her waist instead of aqua chiffon.  

It too much, it's all too much -- the way he fills her is less penetrating than the look he gives her, the way he fills her world and eclipses everything else she holds precious to her.  She's terrified of what she'll read in his eyes, afraid that if she knows what is behind those looks, so soft, tender and haunted that something inside her will change forever.  Instead she loses herself in the rhythm of his hips and the feel of his lips at her throat.

“There we go, that’s it,” and a half dozen other mindless, encouraging phrases spill out of his mouth as York moves inside of her, hands sliding down to her hips to pull her harder on him, deeper around him. It’s hard to tell how she feels when he’s already run her this ragged, if she likes him taking control, so York raises his voice and asks, “this good? This okay? Tell me-- what you want from me--”

“It's good, it's so good…” Carolina can barely speak now, hopes that her fatigue won't scare him off.  “Keep going, York.  I just want you to come.”  She swallows hard, gasping as he puts some strength into his thrusts again.  “I've waited so long just to see...to feel you in….the feel...  god York.”  She clutches him to her, hiding her tears from him.  “I love you.  Come for me.”

“Yes-- oh, yes-- Carolina--” he kisses her, hard, tears falling onto her cheeks as he runs his hands up to her breasts to kneed them, down to her thighs to pull her tighter to him, to her hips to help her move on him. She’s tired, so tired, and he really wants to push for three but she asked him to come. She wants him. And as every breath becomes a sob, louder and louder as he dumbly pants against her mouth, he’ll obey her.

Carolina summons the last of her strength, rolling her hips against him, locking her eyes with his.  She feels his breathing stutter, watchs his eyes lose focus.  She surges against him and he shatters in her arms.  He freezes as he comes, keening against her skin and she drags him in for a kiss to silence him.  She grinds on relentlessly, milking him and she doesn't stop until he falls silent, his body falling heavy and comforting on top of her.  His weight helps push the sigh out of her, and she strokes his hair, leaving a trail of soft kisses over his cheekbone and jawline before finally melting into the mattress herself.

It feels like an eternity before York can collect himself, chain a string of thoughts together into something coherent other than the ceaseless beat of his love. An eternity in a moment, making reality seem bitter after the sweetness of being consumed by Carolina. And still his first instinct is to pull her closer, gather his legs under him and pull her hips up onto his thighs, tilting her so they can enjoy this intimacy without the worry of stained clothing. York kisses her again, slow and easy, the little jerks of his body post-orgasm coming slower and weaker with each moment.

“God, I love you so damn much.”

“I love you, too.”  The words come out as barely a whisper, but with as much intensity as if she would have screamed.  All this time, and she is still terrified that he doesn't believe her, despite everything she does trying to show him.  But this isn't a time for doubt or worry, and she weaves her fingers through his.  She savors the heat of his skin, fighting off the sleepiness that is taking hold of her limbs, desperate to stay right here, with him.

Slowly, unsteadily, York undresses her; first the bra, using the arc of her spine to hold her up while he undoes the clasp. He eases it off with her shirt, already half-off but falling away when he pulls her into a sitting position on his lap, groaning when it makes her shift around his softening, hyper-sensitive cock. Last her skirt, which he eases up her body and off her head like a veil, kissing her immediately after.

“How you feelin’?” he asks, deep and hoarse.

“Same as you, only happier.”  She knows he won't let her get away with that small lie- but it is hard to believe that anyone could match how she feels right now, that it is possible to feel anything more without her heart bursting.  

York grunts as he falls onto his back, head dangerously close to the foot of the bed, pulling Carolina on top of him. “Impossible. Lies and slander. You can't be happier than I am.” He puffs as a strand of her hair falls into his face and lands in his mouth. “I have you back.”

“No, I have _you_ back.   _I_ didn't go anywhere.”  She shakes her head, dropping all her hair down onto his face and laughs to hear him sputter.  “When I say it was quiet without you, it doesn't tell the story by half.  My life went silent without you.  I missed your voice, your laugh, the way I can hear your breath in your helmet.  I missed that little purring sound you make when you first wake up, when you can't decide whether to yawn or stretch or kiss me. And that grunt you make when you drop down into your seat in the mess hall.  And that sound you make when I pin you sparring.  I love that one.”  She leans down to kiss him, slow and deep.  “I wanna hear that one again really soon.”

“Carolina,” he says, voice suddenly thick with sentiment, “god, I missed you too. It was so-- lonely down there, even with Delta. I missed going to sleep next to you and watching you slowly relax, missed seeing your little drool spots on the pillow. I missed the way you make your coffee and do that little flourish when you pour your cream in. I missed watching you tie your hair up and tuck your ponytail in your helmet, fuck, I can't even--” He presses his face in the side of her neck and heaves a sigh. “Let's just call it a draw and agree that we're both sentimental fools in love, yeah?”

“I can agree with that, yeah.”  Carolina relaxes against his body, his breath warm and comforting at her neck.  She could stay like this, just like this all night.  Every night.  Lazy away every morning with him if only it was possible.  It isn't possible though, and they have to be content with what they can steal.  It has to be enough.  At least for now.  

But these thoughts feel a little too much like planning, so Carolina grounds herself in the moment - the way he smells of sex and soap at the same time, the way he softens against her as he relaxes, the way his -- ah.

“York?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, scooting down the bed to arc backwards, reaching under his bed and coming up with a shirt. “... I think this is yours.” He holds it up, still half upside down. “Want me to keep looking?”

“Yes - I don't want to have to walk back to my quarters with suspicious stains or in my dress shirt.”  Both would elicit comment for sure.  

With Carolina’s weight to counterbalance him, York scoots a little bit further down, until his entire upper body is off the bed and he can reach even further. “Aaaaaand here we go.” He tries to hand it off, readjusts and sits up with a grunt of effort, abs protesting the strain. “I’d say I was wondering where this went,” and he hands her a ratty tank top, “but that would imply I noticed it was missing.” He gives her a wink for good measure, too.

“Ah well, it wouldn't be the first dirty thing between my legs today.”  She gives him a wink back and settles the shirt between her thighs.  Then she leans forward, grabbing a handful of his hair and dragging him in for a kiss.

He hums into it, gently pushing her backwards until he’s settled on top of her. “Wouldn't be the first shirt, either,” he says conversationally, kissing down her neck to her chest. “I think I was in the middle of something here,” and he tilts his head to the side, eying the newly forming red marks on her skin and the older, faint ones on her hipbones. “Ready for another round yet? I told myself i’d get three out of you, but we’ve got all night and you can say no.”  

She reins him back in by his hair again “Hmmm, you're right...we do have all night.” Carolina's next kiss ends with his lip in her teeth.  “And I don't think I want to leave you at only one.”  She wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him down.  She presses her lips to the base of his neck and begins to suck.

After a strangled noise and a moments adjustment to hold himself over her by his elbows, York lowers his voice and whispers directly into her ear.

“Fuck, am I dreaming? I mean,” and he squirms as she uses a bit of teeth, “we are both naked this time. Par for the course so far.”

Carolina pulled back just long enough to give him a slow mischievous smile.  “Want me to pinch you?  Would that help?”  She runs her hand over his hip, then dragging her nails back over his ass. “Just tell me where you want it.”

“I think the point of a pinch is that it's supposed to be unpleasant,” and he takes the opportunity to kiss her breathless then slides down her body to her breasts, “and you made the mistake of dating a masochist.”

His piece said, York wets his tongue and flicks it against one nipple, blowing cool air over it and pinching it between his fingers as he sucks on the other one, settling himself to lay between her legs, pinning the shirt between them.

“Oh you bastard.”  Carolina shudder under his mouth, then takes her nails down his shoulders in retaliation.  “I wish you'd have never found that out, you smug prick.”  She closes her eyes, and her next words are far softer-- “I love it.  Don't stop.”

He pulls off with a subtle pop and presses them together with his hands, accentuating her cleavage and pressing his face between them. “Wouldn't have left these alone for long. Was only a matter of time.” York presses a reverent kiss to each before moving other to the neglected breast. “Marks okay?”

“Yes - but don't get too crazy or you'll have to fetch your armor and heal up anything too visible.  There's only so much that can be played off as bad luck in sparring.”  She raises her knees, letting her thighs squeeze against his hips.

He hums, satisfied, against her skin before sucking a little harder, putting some teeth behind it as his fingers toy with the other nipple. Her little gasp goes straight to his groin, which isn't yet ready for a second round but wishes it was. York feels gluttonous, feasting on her like this, and a little guilty when he pulls back and sees the red stain he’s leaving on her skin. More than anything he feels satisfied, in the heart-racing way like he's getting away with something decadent and Carolina is the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted.

The kisses he leaves down her chest and stomach are rough, wet, and sloppy, leaving a trail of blushing skin and damp spots to chill in the air. York pulls the shirt out of the way and gently kisses the mark he left earlier on her inner thigh, gazing up at her face with what started as a sly smirk but what melts into a sentimental smile.

Carolina runs her hand down the strawberry marks on her own skin, ending at the one on her thigh. Then keeping her eyes on his, she drags her fingers back up, tracing along her slit before bringing her hand back into sight.  She turns her fingers over, inspecting the gleam before raising her eyes back up his.  “Hmmm, that's not semen.” She shifts her hips to draw his attention lower again.  “I wonder how that happened?”

This time, when he ducks between her legs, half-on the bed, York takes his time. He spreads her with his fingers and licks a slow stripe up, breaching her briefly with his tongue before reaching her clit, and repeating with painstaking care, eyes still on hers. “Bet I can find out,” he says, voice low, and he ducks down to start thrusting his tongue in and out of her, licking at the edges of her labia each time. He plants his palm on her lower stomach, pressing down gently, as his thumb strokes her clit and his eyes close on a moan.

“York _…”_ Carolina digs her fingers into her own hair as her head pushes back into the mattress.  “ _York… for fuck's sake…”_  She can't stop her legs from closing on him, from trying to drag him deeper into her.  “How the _fuck_ did you ever get so good at this?”  She rests the back of one hand over her mouth to muffle a moan, biting the skin just below her knuckles as he licks inside her again.

This he can't resist answering. “You know those little yogurt cups we have at breakfast sometimes? I learned how to reach the bottom.” To prove his point, York anchors his hands on her hips and buries his face in her, just barely slipping the whole of his tongue inside before he is forced to pull back and swirl the tip  around her opening. It's hard to breathe, pressed so close to her like this, but the way he can _taste_ her getting wetter is like oxygen.

She can't breathe.  She isn't even sure her heart's still beating. Every sense is overwritten by York's tongue on her, in her.  Need is aching in her like a fever, sapping her of her strength and will.  She had wanted to pin him against the bed, tease him with her wetness and ride him until she coaxed a second orgasm out of him, but now it's all she can do to simply hold on and remember not to scream his name out loud.

And in an instant it is abruptly too much - pleasure building up to jolt, like grabbing an electric fence with both hands.  “York- York please… York, I need to stop.  Ah!”

He jerks back immediately, feet slipping on the floor. “You okay? What do you need?” He asks, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.

“I just need, just need a second….”  Carolina tries to keep as still as she can, tries to catch her breath.  “It just built up too fast, was just too much...just feels…”  She stops, taking huge lungfuls of air, moving her limbs one at a time and groaning at the buzzing ache in each.  She reaches her hand out for him, and once he takes it, she squeezes his fingers in apology.  “Sorry, sweetheart.  Just need a moment.”  She smiles tiredly at the ceiling.  “You're just too good.”

“Hang on.” York slides off the edge of the bed and heads for his insulated locker, hunting through the bottles to find a two-thirds empty bottle of juice. He brings it over to Carolina, settling on the bed beside her. “Here. It's pomegranate.”

“Help me sit up?” She doesn't entirely need his arm behind her shoulders, the support he gives to help her rise up easily, but a momentary dizzy spell makes her grateful he is there.  She lets him coax her further up the bed before he hands her the bottle and she's glad that he keeps his arm around her when she finally takes a drink, even though it means that he can feel just how much she's shaking.  “Sorry.  I'm fine.  All I need is a minute and I'm good to go.” Carolina leans over to kiss him and misses his mouth, adds a second kiss to his cheek to make it seem deliberate, before resting her head against him.  “I love you.”

“Don't try to distract me,” he scolds, even as he kisses her on the nose. “You're a wreck. C’mere.” York reaches over her for find his blanket and manages to pull it almost halfway over Carolina’s body. “Drink your juice. Get cozy. I wouldn't mind the break, anyway.” He gets up to grab the rest of the blanket, which is listing towards the floor, and burritos her inside with one arm free; immediately afterwards, he shivers.

“Oh no, you cold? I know a great cure for hypothermia.”  She takes another drink of juice and shrugs a shoulder out from the blanket.  “C'mon, wrap it around us both.  You spent way too much time being cold this last week-- no more.  I'll keep you warm.”

“Under the blankets then,” and he caps the bottle before rolling them both over, tangling their legs together. “Doctors orders, then? Ooooh, that could be fun. You in that sexy little dress. Strapping me down to the bed for ‘treatment’.”

“Mmmm.  That does sound fun. Maybe we'll have to find some good rope next- something we can play with that won't cut into your skin.”  Carolina cuddles up to him, running her hand up and down his chest under the blanket.  “I had plans to come down with a cup of ice one night, but you probably want to wait on that for a bit after this, I expect.”  She leans forward to kiss his shoulder, then pulls herself closer, breasts pressing against him.  “This helping at all?”

“Yes,” he says, canting his hips forward so she can feel the press of his hardening cock against her thigh. “Yes to all of it. Drink your juice,” and he kisses her shoulder, dropping his voice. “I wanna be in you when you come this time. Wanna feel you get tight around me, like you can't help but want me as deep as you can get.”

York moves his kisses to her neck, his hand to run down the small of her back to the curve of her ass. “Wanna keep you up for hours, kissin’ you all over, tongue-fuckin’ you whenever we get bored. I wanna do things to you-- _for_ _you_ that no one’s ever done before. I can't be cold around you, Carolina, not when you make me burn like this.” And he finds her free hand with his other arm and presses it against his chest.

“For you. Only, ever, for you.”

She pulls back only a moment to move his hand to her own chest before replacing her own, feeling his heart pounding under her fingers.

“Only, ever, for you.” His words from her mouth feel like plans, bigger than plans -- they feel like vows.  Part of her screams against it - the danger, the pain of watching those vows bleed out with her, with him, with any of the tragic situations that could see them torn apart. She doesn't care anymore.  He said she was wrecked, but doesn't know the half of it.  She presses her face against him, trying to smother the warnings, and hopes that her moan of despair passes for arousal.

York fits her against him better, hand sliding down to pull her leg over his hip, and keeps kissing up and down her neck. “I'm not doing anything until I see you drink, darling,” he teases, even as the hand over her heart flexes and he rubs his thumb against the swell of her breast. “Just a little. Gotta take care of my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend…”  Her voice breaks in the middle of the word, and she hides the emotion in a sip of juice.  “I'm so lucky to have a boyfriend who loves me so much.”  She looks up at him, lips stained red from the pomegranate. “And as soon as we are both ready, I'm going to take care of you.”

He kisses her, enjoying the flavor of the fruit on her mouth, and settles down against the pillows. “Take your time,” he purrs, his eyes and hand roving up and down her body telling an entirely different story.

“That's not all I'm going to take.”  She finishes the rest of the juice, caps the bottle and lowers it blindly over the side of the bed.  Then she rolls over in top of him, nose to nose, their lips nearly brushing.  “Like your heart, your breath…” she leans down to kiss him, slow and long and deep.  “And every inch of your cock.”

“No complaints--” York clears his throat, voice having cracked in the middle, “no complaints here with that plan.” He squares his hands on her hips, sliding them up to cup her breasts and then to loop around her neck as he returns the kiss. “You're the boss here, really, I'm just your--”

He frowns, distracted by the idea of checking the leaderboard to see if he’d moved up a place or two, and shakes his head. There are more pressing matters at hand.

“--devoted boyfriend who has your six.”

“Don't sound so dismissive about yourself.”  The kisses are helping things along, and the feel of his cock hard beneath her sends shivers of need up her spine.  She slides herself along him, testing how wet she is, and savours the way his eyes flutter closed as his body arches under her.  “Still feeling okay?  I can't believe you aren't exhausted after everything this past week.”

“It was all mental stuff. D did m-most, ah, of the work.” As much as he’d love to play the unaffected part, even now the heat of Carolina’s body makes his eyes want to roll back in his head. “Except for the ride home, that was me and Niner. Mostly Niner. Did I tell you I shot a ship with a grappling hook on the second try?”  

“Very impressive.”  Carolina slides up and down again, eyes half closed.  “Wanna show me what else you can shoot on the second try?  And the third, and the fourth…”  She lowers her mouth to his neck, licks a wide wet stripe. “... and the fifth…”  She settles herself down to suck.

“Ohhhh, oh, s-sure, I’ll do that--” this time they do roll, and York blindly grabs for the back of her head to hold her closer, hips trying to match Carolina’s movement and catch her. “Anything y-you want, as many times as you want, I can do it.” Which is a filthy, blatant lie, as he senses that if he comes a second time not only will it knock him out, it’ll probably be a little less loaded than the previous one had been. His legs are starting to remind him that he did spend half the morning and part of the night jogging through knee deep snow with a backpack of equipment but York mentally tells those overtaxed muscles to fuck off.

Carolina laughs into his throat.  “Maybe you can do five, but I sure as hell can’t.”  She moves lower, kisses the small soft spot between his collarbones before nipping on the bone to one side, then the other.  “Tell you what --”  She pulls herself up to look him in the eyes, then rests her forehead against his before continuing, “--how about just one more, together?  Then call it a night?”  She lands a soft kiss on his nose, then his lips.  “Call me old, but I think I could really use the sleep.  Work out tomorrow is going to be a nightmare.  You’re worth every bit of it--”  another kiss, warmer this time, “--but...ouch.  What do you think?”

“I would never call you old,” he soothes her, “but I might have been exaggerating when I said I could do five. One more sounds good. I like it when it hurts.” Another wink, and a stolen kiss. “You know me.”

“I do.”  Her next kiss starts with tongue and ends with teeth.  “Intimately.”  

York’s moan is her signal, and she resumes grinding.  Carolina nuzzles down his neck, dropping kisses some places, sucking hard in others.  They are both breathing heavy before she sits up and rakes both hands down his chest.

York gasps, arching underneath her. Carolina keeps a steady rhythm with her hips, feeling him moving against her and the way his voice catches on her name makes her shiver.  She's plenty wet enough for him now, and sits up, centering herself over his hips. But instead of raising herself up to take him in, Carolina keeps York's cock trapped beneath her.  She gives him a slow sly smile and reaches down to touch herself.

The visual hits him like the recoil of a gun. “Oh, oh baby-- you don’t have to put on a show for me,” he stammers, torn between agony at being forced to wait and the sudden thrill of imagining watching her get herself off, “I’m already so hard for you, can’t you feel it?” York makes as though to grab her wrist and bring her hand to his flushed, oversensitive cock but stops halfway, paralyzed by need and gripping her thigh instead as he watches her fingers slide between her legs.

“You surprise me, York.  I thought you'd hate this.”  Carolina pulls her hand away, with two fingers glistening.  She glances down for a moment and rises up on her knees to slide her wet fingers along his cock.  “I thought you’d be desperate to stop me, to be inside me yourself?”  Carolina runs her fingers along the inside of her thigh, moving up, skimming along her slit.  Her eyes start to close, but then she freezes, looks directly at him again.  “Ah, the denial thing again. Well that backfired.  Well, maybe not…” Her eyes flutter closed as she breaches herself. “...you said you wanted to be in me when I come.  Decide how long you can stand to watch and take your chances.  I’m not giving you any hints how close I am.”

York breaks.

Squeezing his eyes shut and choking on his ego, York arches his back - hard - and sobs out a string of words that try very hard to be coherent, along the lines of “now now now please please please please” with one hand clapping over his mouth and the other fumbling to yank Carolina’s hand out of her. He could swear his heart was triple its usual rate, arousal shifting to agony at the thought of such temptation. The hand on his mouth slides up to cover his eyes with his forearm as he gasps for breath.

“Hey.”  Carolina leans forward over him, nuzzling at his cheek.  “You okay, York?”  She leans her forehead against his cheek.  “Did I go too far?”

“It's fine you're fine it’s fine I’m fine fine fine just please, god, please, Carolina,” and he laces their fingers together, arm still covering his eyes. “Please, Carolina, now.”

“Anything for you.”  She touches her lips lightly to his before sitting up, positioning him and easing herself down.  The moan that escapes her mouth as he fills her comes all the way from her bones, and she’s so wet that she bottoms out in one go.  “My god, York… do you have any idea how good you make me feel?”  She starts to rock on him, slow at first, trying to pace herself.  

Unfortunately, York is past the point of listening to her; his whole body, already exhausted from a week-long mission alternating between extensive physical strain and hours of huddling for warmth, weakly jerks in time with her movements. As she settles into a steady pace, every breath comes out a wail, slowly building in volume that he doesn’t even care to muffle. He is completely, thoroughly, lost in her.

Carolina dips down to cover his mouth with hers.  She takes his hands, blindly coaxing them around her back, until he grips her, nearly crushing her against him.  She keeps up the rhythm, trying to savor every sound he makes, trying to silence all his lovely sounds, trying to urge him to come before she loses the fight herself.  What little energy she had saved for this finale is spilling out, lost like water in sand.  She wants to pull back, only for a moment.  She wants to look him in the eyes and tell him how much she loves him.  But if she stops now, she won’t be able to start again.  So she picks up speed for one last go.

As if sensing her weariness, York slides his hands down to her hips, helping her move on him. He moves his mouth down her neck, groaning half-formed words of praise and pleas for mercy and eventually giving up on anything verbal. With a hand sliding up to her ribcage, York palms her left breast, feeling her heartbeat pounding under his fingertips as he massages her soft flesh.

Carolina gasps at his touch and her strokes against him lengthen, become more deliberate, sliding her along his entire length until her muscles twitch, until she aches from the way he fills her.  She's so exhausted, but she needs this, needs _him._  She can see the tears in his eyes, the same painful need, the desire and desperation that pushes them both on.  And under it all, it's his ever present love that pushes her over the edge.

York has time for one last shuddering breath before Carolina and his orgasm swallow him whole. He comes in silence, the breath stolen from his body as pleasure and pain alike burn him inside out like a shotgun shell. It's so much-- she’s so much-- and he’ll have to be careful not to take it this far later, but in the moment it's perfect. In the moment York holds a shaking, gasping Carolina through her orgasm and wonders if it's possible to love someone more.

Carolina lies in his arms trying to catch her breath, feeling York's heart drumming beneath her, and her own only just beginning to slow.  His hands are moving over her skin still, but so slowly that she can feel the effort it is costs him.  She wants to lift herself up, look him in the eyes and kiss him, but she is so drained that she can't even raise her head.  Her lips brush his shoulder instead and Carolina melts against his body as she closes her eyes.

Stubborn to the core, York manages to shift Carolina’s leg anyway and rolls them onto their sides, still intimately entwined and moaning at the way it makes her tighten around him again. The blankets he finds after some blind grappling, too, and he pulls them over them both. When Carolina cracks an eye open as if to ask him if he’s done, he kisses her.

“This okay?”

“More than okay,” she mumbles.  The feeling of his kiss lingers even after he has pulled away, and she hopes it stays there a while, forever if it could.  A kiss she could never lose, no matter how far away he is.  “It’s perfect.  You're perfect.  And I love you so much, York.”

“Right back at’cha,” he murmurs, leaning back in for another one, savoring the feel of her leg over his hip and his hand at the small of her back, tracing the curve of her waist. No, it's not possible to love someone any more than he loves her right now.

As much as he fights it, his eyes are starting to close as well, and his next kiss is more of a sigh and a nuzzle, so desperate to cling to each moment awake with her and savor it. But it's a losing battle, and he’s already starting to drift.

Carolina feels him sigh against her skin one last time before his breathing slows, evens out.  She has only time to spare a thought, a wish for a different bed, a different life with the two of them alone, before she joins him in sleep.


End file.
